


Winter's Knight

by Dirade



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Anxiety, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Embarrassment, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, M/M, Nicknames, Panic Attacks, Protective! Mark, Sleepy Cuddles, Soft blue boy! Ethan, it's all good, there's nothing Mark loves more than space, there's really not much to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-04-14 09:06:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14132781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dirade/pseuds/Dirade
Summary: Basically Ethan's car breaks down during a snow storm so he shows up at Mark's house with a mild case of hypothermia, and then Mark takes care of him.Featuring: one mention of Chica, cute soft boys, and Mark loving space





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, first of all, yes, I know that it doesn't snow in LA, but if I wanted this fic to be based in reality I would have written Amyplier.  
> Second, does Ethan still have blue hair in this fic even though his hair isn't blue anymore? Who knows? YOU get to decide!  
> And last, I kinda steered away from stating whether or not Ethan and Mark are in a relationship here because I dunno, this is the first RPF I've posted and I'm still kinda feeling out the territory. You can read it as whatever you want.  
> Anyway, enough of my rambling. Enjoy!

Mark pulls his headphones off and goes still, pausing his game and listening to the quiet of the house around him. He thought he heard something rattling in the darkness of his house. It must have been pretty loud to make it past his soundproof walls and the thick padding of his headphones. For a second, he thinks that it might be Chica at the door. She does that sometimes, snuffling and pawing at the wood until he comes out. He gets out of his chair and listens again. Silence. If Chica was trying to get his attention, she must have tired out. 

 

He’s about to sit back down when he hears his doorbell ring. He pauses. He wasn’t expecting anyone, was he? And he can’t remember having ordered anything either. No one should be at his door. He considers going to see who it is, but then thinks better of it. It’s just past 10:00. If someone’s at his door they probably want to murder him. Best to let them leave on their own. 

 

He’s putting his headphones on when the doorbell rings again. And again. Whoever it is barely waits for the last sound to fall from it’s crescendo before they’re hitting the doorbell again. The word button-mashing comes to mind. 

 

Mark considers ignoring it, but the sound is almost non-stop now. He sighs in annoyance, putting his headphones down and heading toward the front door. Whoever’s out there is about to get a piece of Mark’s mind. 

 

He’s already geared himself up as he throws the door open, ready to give a stern talking to to this person not only about the late hour, but also basic door etiquette. 

 

He’s already opened his mouth when the words get caught in his throat. Ethan is standing in front of him, one hand pressed close to his torso while the other rests on Mark’s doorbell. 

 

“M-M-M-Mark…” Ethan says, taking what starts out as a step forward before he’s falling into Mark’s arms. 

 

“Ethan?!” Mark exclaims, stumbling as he compensates for the boy’s extra weight. “What - why are you - what happened?” 

 

Ethan totters on his feet, one hand twitching near Mark’s shoulder, fingers curling but not quite managing to grip Mark’s shirt. “C- Cold, Mar’,” Ethan stutters. “I was…” He trails off, pressing his forehead to Mark’s chest. 

 

“Alright, okay, bud,” Mark soothes, leading Ethan over to the couch and guiding him to sit down. He’s a little worried. Ethan isn’t usually so… tactile. Maybe he’s drunk? “What are you doing here?” 

 

The weather is awful. It’s a full blizzard outside, complete with howling wind, historically frigid temperatures, and thick, icy snow. It started last night, when frost began to creep over the city. The next day everything was covered in ice, and then it was  _ snowing _ . In LA! It wasn’t supposed to snow here. It was supposed to be sunny and warm and maybe a little rainy, but not this. Supposedly, it’s some kind of polar vortex. At least, that’s what the news has been saying. It’s terrifying enough on it’s own, but knowing that Ethan tried to travel through that weather makes Mark’s stomach turn. 

 

“You know it’s not safe,” Mark continues, standing in front of Ethan’s sitting form. Ethan doesn’t answer. Only now does Mark really get a good look at him. 

 

Ethan’s shaking. His whole body is trembling almost violently. The shiver seems to come from his chest and radiate outward, so he seems to be convulsing for a moment before the tremors subside, only to rattle him again. His face is pale, although that’s nothing new, but it makes his bright red ears and nose almost comically stark. Snow is caught in his hair and dusted on his shoulders. That part’s kind of adorable. 

 

Mark is about to make a comment on it when he catches sight of Ethan’s hands, which are an unhealthy, mottled shade of purplish blue. “Oh my god, Ethan, your hands!” 

 

Ethan doesn’t respond, but he’s rocking gently now, though it’s almost unnoticeable beneath his aggressive shivering. 

 

“C’mon, let’s warm your hands up a little, okay?” Mark cajoles gently. Ethan looks so small and young like this, hunched over and shaking. It makes Mark’s chest ache in a way he doesn’t have time to think about. He puts one hand on Ethan’s shoulder and takes the younger boy’s hand in his other, guiding Ethan to his feet. Ethan’s sways as he stands and Mark’s heart jumps into his throat. Ethan’s hands are ice cold and stiff and, for a moment, an image of the younger boy forever still and silent burns in Mark’s mind. Mark swallows around the lump in his throat and leads Ethan to the bathroom, turning the water as hot as it can go. 

 

He glances at Ethan again as the water heats up. The boy’s gaze is unfocused. He’s leaning heavily on Mark, lips parted around a sigh. The same fear drips, icy cold, over Mark’s heart. Something’s clearly wrong, but Mark still can’t tell what it is. He doesn’t seem drunk. Drunk Ethan is usually a hyper ball of energy. But he doesn’t seem exactly… sad, either. He’ll worry more about that later; right now, his first priority is getting Ethan’s hands to look like they don’t belong on a dead body. 

 

He awkwardly pushes Ethan’s sleeves up, careful to support the boy’s weight as he does so. The water is steaming and he pushes Ethan’s hands under the water, murmuring quietly. “Alright, bud, just gonna rinse your hands a little, okay?” Ethan jerks against him as the water hits his skin, but he quickly relaxes, eyes fluttering shut. 

 

Mark rubs his hands over Ethan's, hoping to help get the circulation going again. Ethan’s head bumps Mark’s chin as the boy presses closer, squirming in Mark’s arms. “Mar’,” the younger boy mumbles. “Still col’.” The ends of his words keep trailing into nothingness, which really isn't making Mark feel any better. 

 

“I know, Eth. I'm trying to warm you up now.”

 

“Noo…” Ethan whines, pressing back more firmly. “Cold er’ywhere!” 

 

Indeed he is, Mark notes as a shiver passes through his own body. Then it hits him. He nearly smacks himself for being such an idiot. He barely realized that Ethan's clothes are wet. The snow must have melted from his body heat, and Ethan's only wearing a sweatshirt, not a winter coat, so the water just soaked through. No wonder he's so cold. 

 

“You're clothes are all wet, blue boy,” Mark states and wow, that's not a name he usually uses. Ethan just seems so… small, right now. Mark doesn't really have time to contemplate this as Ethan sags against him. “How about we get you out of these clothes and you can put on some dry ones, okay? I think I have some stuff you can borrow.” Ethan nods, head lolling onto Mark’s shoulder. “Is it okay if I take off your sweatshirt? We'll get your pants later, but I want to get you dry as soon as possible.” Ethan nods again. “Alrighty, up we go,” Mark cajoles, pulling Ethan back a little and maneuvering the sweatshirt up over his head. Ethan isn’t exactly helpful, seeing as he can barely keep himself upright on his own, but Mark manages eventually. He opts to leave Ethan’s t-shirt on for the time being because it’s thin and will dry soon enough and besides, he’s still worried about Ethan’s hands. 

 

He throws the sweatshirt in the shower - he’ll deal with that later - and once again puts Ethan’s hands under the stream of steaming water. 

 

They stand like that for another minute or so before Ethan starts squirming, fighting Mark’s hold. “Ow, ow, ow…” Ethan exclaims suddenly, pulling away from the water. 

 

Mark lets him, moving to turn the water temperature down a little bit. “Hey, hey, we can make it a little colder. Is it burning you?” 

 

Ethan’s face screws up in discomfort as he vehemently shakes his head. “No no no, hurts - it hurts, Mark.” 

 

Mark glances at Ethan’s hands, which are now a bright red. Still not exactly optimal, but at least it’s better than the frozen look of before. “Are you sure? It will warm you up faster if we keep them under the water.” 

 

Ethan shakes his head again. “No, no more. Hurts.” 

 

Mark hesitates, but decides that it will be alright if they stop now. “Okay, let’s just dry off your hands, alright?” 

 

Ethan’s leaning against him again, and he grimaces as Mark rubs his hands, but he remains quiet. 

 

“Let’s get you into some warm clothes, okay?” Mark coos, but Ethan shakes his head. 

 

“Hurts, really hurts, Mar’,” Ethan whines. His eyes are glistening. Without warning, he crumples to his knees, curling around his hands. 

 

“C’mon, Ethan, let’s at least get you to the couch first, okay, bud?” He levers Ethan to his feet, though the boy wobbles as he stands. “You can do it. I’ve got you.” Mark manages to drag Ethan over to the couch before the two collapse in a heap of limbs. 

 

Ethan curls up in Mark’s lap, head tucked under the older man’s chin. It’s less pronounced now, but he’s still trembling. Mark can hear his teeth clicking against each other, like a rapid, secondary heartbeat. “Ow…” Ethan mumbles, tucking his arms close to his chest. 

 

“C’mere,” Mark whispers gently, taking Ethan’s hands in his own. His skin is still cold to the touch, so Mark wraps his hands around Ethan’s in a bundle of warmth and presses their joined hands to his own chest.

 

They sit like that for a minute. Mark just listens to Ethan breathing, the occasional shudders in his exhales causing worry to spark in his chest. Then he hears a quiet whimper, and he looks down to see tears leaking from the corners of Ethan’s eyes. 

 

“Oh, baby…” Mark murmurs, cradling Ethan against his chest. He caresses Ethan’s face, wiping the tears away, and Ethan presses into the touch with a tilt of his head. “What’s wrong?” 

 

“Hurts,” Ethan sniffles, nuzzling a little closer. 

 

“I know, sweetheart,” Mark coos. “Maybe we can get you into some warm clothes, hm? That should help.” Ethan doesn’t answer at first, but he eventually nods, the action causing his hair to tickle Mark’s neck. “Let’s get you upstairs then,” Mark says, wiggling out from under the younger boy to stand. He sticks out a hand to help pull Ethan to his feet, but instead Ethan extends both of his arms toward Mark, hands opening and closing in a grabbing gesture. “You want a hug?” Mark asks. Ethan shakes his head like a dog wagging its tail. “What do you want, bud?” 

 

Ethan opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. Mark can see his throat move as he swallows, seemingly struggling to piece his thoughts together. “Carry?” he asks finally, eyes wide with hope. 

 

“You want me to carry you?” Mark asks. Ethan nods excitedly, stretching his body towards Mark. Mark chuckles but leans down to scoop Ethan into his arms. The boy wraps his arms around Mark’s neck and his legs around Mark’s waist, pressing his cold face into Mark’s shoulder. He clings tight as Mark lumbers upstairs, the older man kicking the door to his room open. He leans over to place Ethan on the bed, but the boy whines loudly, grip tightening as he presses his face into the side of Mark’s neck. 

 

Mark suppresses a shiver at the sensation of icy skin against his own, straightening back up and adjusting Ethan to rest on his hip. “C’mon, blue, let go. I need to get you some clothes,” Mark cajoles, swaying gently to rock the boy in his arms. 

 

“No,” Ethan mumbles petulantly, fisting a hand in Mark’s shirt. 

 

“Yes,” Mark insists, placing Ethan on the bed again. He untangles the boy’s limbs from around his body, prying his hands off with some effort. Ethan is still shivering, and as much as Mark wants to keep Ethan happy, it’s more important that he gets him warmed up. As he tries to step away Ethan reaches out and grabs hold of his shirt again, eyes shimmering in the dim light. He waits for the smaller boy to say something, but Ethan just holds on tight, staring up at Mark with those wide eyes. “C’mon, it’s okay,” Mark croons. “I’ll be right here. I’m just going to get some stuff from the closet. I’ll be right here.” He uncoils Ethan’s fingers again, and this time Ethan lets him, his hand falling limply to his side. The boy blinks slowly, and a tear slips down his cheek. His lower lip is trembling. 

 

Mark feels a pang deep in his chest. “Don’t cry, Eth. It’s okay. I’ll be right back. I just need to get you some clothes, alright? You’ll feel so much better, I promise. Just let me get them. It’ll only take a second. Just a second, blue, okay?” He turns around before he can get too caught up in the disproportionately deep sadness spilling from Ethan’s eyes. He scampers over to his closet and nabs his warmest, fluffiest pajamas, leftovers from Ohio, before turning back to the bed. 

 

Ethan has his knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped tight around them. 

 

Mark’s breath catches. He approaches slowly, placing the clothes on the bed next to the younger boy. “C’mon, blue, it’s okay. I’m right here. There’s no need to cry.” 

 

Ethan sniffles, his teary gaze drifting to Mark’s face. He suddenly launches himself into Mark’s arms, clinging to him tightly enough that Mark can feel his limbs shaking. “Don’t leave,” Ethan chokes, voice thick. “I don’t want to be alone.” 

 

Mark pats Ethan’s back in what he hopes is a soothing way. “I know, I know…” he murmurs. “Let’s get you into some warm clothes, okay? You’ll feel alot better.” 

 

“Don’t leave,” Ethan breathes on a shaky exhale. 

 

“I won’t leave,” Mark assures him quietly. “C’mon, it’s okay,” he repeats as he gently disentangles Ethan’s arms from around his neck. With his hands around Ethan’s, Mark can feel his continued shivering, hear the faint chatter of his teeth. “You still need to change…” Mark mutters, more to himself than Ethan. “Let’s go, bathroom time,” Mark says, hefting Ethan to his feet. Ethan leans heavily against him, blinking slowly, but Mark manages to grab the clothes on the bed and a clean pair of boxers and maneuver them to the door. By the time they waddle into the hallway Ethan seems a little steadier. He still has one hand wrapped tightly in Mark’s shirt, but at least he’s carrying most of his own weight now. 

 

The two stumble to the bathroom, where Mark takes a moment to study Ethan and assess the boy’s current capabilities. He still seems woozy, but he doesn’t seem like he’s going to collapse as soon as Mark lets go of him, which is an improvement. 

 

“Can you get changed on your own, Eth?” Mark asks tentatively, adjusting the bundle of clothes wedged under his arm while still keeping a loose grip on Ethan’s shoulder. 

 

Ethan frowns, his free hand grabbing Mark’s elbow. “Don’t leave,” he whispers urgently, taking a step closer. 

 

Mark runs his thumb across Ethan’s shoulder, tracing the tapering line of his collar bone. “I won’t leave, okay? I just want to know if you need help or not.” 

 

Ethan’s shoulders droop in what might be relief. He pats Mark’s elbow, a smile twitching on his lips. “Stay.” His mouth goes flat again as his grip tightens. “Stay?” 

 

“Yeah,” Mark assures him. “I’m going to stay.” He pauses, peeling Ethan’s hands away and folding the clothes into his twitching fingers. “I’ll talk to you through the door, okay? You good?” 

 

Ethan nods, that gentle smile back on his lips. He steps into the bathroom and closes the door behind himself. 

 

Mark listens to the rustle of cloth and the soft pad of footsteps on tile. 

 

Then, “Mar’?” 

 

“Yeah, Ethan? You need help?” 

 

There’s a hesitant silence before Ethan says, “no.” A beat passes. “Still there?” Ethan asks from behind the door. 

 

“Still here,” Mark affirms, leaning against the wall. “You want me to talk to you?” 

 

“Yeah,” Ethan murmurs, barely audible. 

 

Mark exhales before starting on the first thing that comes to mind. “Have I ever told you how much I love space? It’s just so huge. Bigger than any of us, bigger than anything. I just… sometimes I realize how insignificant we all are. But not in a bad way! It’s just that, I don’t know, I think that sometimes we make things a much bigger deal than they really are, y’know? And thinking about the cosmic consequences, it just, kinda makes me feel like it’s going to be okay, y’know? Like nothing I do will matter that much in the long run, in the scope of the entire universe, so why not have a good time? Why not live the best life you can if you’re the only one you’re living it for? Does that make sense?” From behind the door, Ethan hums. “I’d love to go into space,” Mark continues. “I just… I love what I do, you know that, but sometimes… I mean, I’d give it all up just for a chance to… well, you know. It just, sometimes it kinda seems like that’s the only thing that matters, like that’s the only that  _ could _ matter. A chance to see, to experience, something so much bigger than any of us, than all of us, really.” Mark sighs, staring at the hallway light like it might someday be the sun. “I’m rambling, I guess, but do you know what I mean?” 

 

Ethan steps out of the bathroom, dirty clothes cradled in the crook of his arm. “I know what you mean,” he says, voice soft. He stares at Mark for a moment, a gentle compassion in his eyes, the ethereal glow of a lantern in the snow, and Mark feels it pull at him in ways he doesn’t understand. The spell is broken when Ethan speaks again, still soft as down. “Where should I put my clothes?” 

 

“Oh. Just throw them in the shower,” Mark supplies quickly, levering himself off the wall to stand. 

 

Ethan swivels, leaning precariously as he tosses his clothes haphazardly onto the floor of the shower. Mark makes a mental note to hang them up later, but as Ethan sways dangerously again like a newly uprooted tree, Mark decides he has more pressing concerns. Mark steps forward and puts a hand on Ethan’s waist to steady him. Ethan turns, still swaying, smiling serenely up at Mark with half-lidded eyes. 

 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Ethan murmurs, resting his cheek on Mark’s shoulder. His breath puffs warm and reassuring against Mark’s neck, and goosebumps rise from the older man’s skin. “I…” Ethan doesn’t finish his sentence, eyes drifting shut as his full weight melts against Mark’s body. 

 

“Let’s get you to bed, blue boy,” Mark whispers, jostling Ethan a little to wake him up. The boy stirs, blinking groggily at Mark through a haze of sleepiness. 

 

“Mar’?” 

 

“I know you’re sleepy, bud. Let’s just get you into bed. Then you can rest, alright?” 

 

Ethan nods, blinking slowly, and lets Mark half-guide, half-carry him to the guest room. He crumples onto the bed in a heap of limbs, eyes already closing again as Mark pulls a thick comforter up to the boy’s chin. 

 

“Sleep tight, blue,” Mark breathes, flicking the light off and sinking the room into a deep indigo.  

 

From behind him he hears a muffled groan before Ethan speaks again. “Mar’?” 

 

Mark pauses in the doorway, turning to look at his friend’s cocooned form. “Yeah?” 

 

He hears snuffling as Ethan shifts, and when the boy turns to face him, Mark sees the shine of his eyes in the low light, already shining with unshed tears. “Will you stay?” Ethan asks, fragile and paper thin as the moonlight glittering in the window. 

 

Mark pads back over to the bed, that now familiar ache flaring in his chest again. “You want me to stay with you?” 

 

Ethan nods, unblinking gaze focused on Mark’s face. His hand emerges from the thick blankets, hangs in the air, trembling in an intangible breeze. His fingers twitch toward Mark, fluttering to the beat of Ethan’s exhales. 

 

Why does Mark’s chest hurt so much? 

 

The older man catches Ethan’s hand in his own, stills that shaking second heartbeat, and feels the ache inside of him crawl over his lungs. “Okay, okay. I'll stay.” 

 

Ethan shifts backwards to make room for the other man, but he doesn't release him. 

 

Still, Mark manages to clamber into the bed, wriggling his way under the covers to face the younger man in front of him. 

 

Ethan’s grip on his hand tightens before disappearing altogether, replaced by Ethan’s body plastered against Mark’s. Ethan’s arms find their way around Mark’s torso and he presses himself closer to the older man, close enough that Mark can feel the younger boy’s pulse thrum against his own. 

 

“Please don't leave…” Ethan whispers into his skin. 

 

Mark feels a pinprick of cold as tears seep into his shirt. He rests a hand on Ethan’s back, curling around him, and presses a kiss to the boy’s hair as he speaks. “I won't. I'm right here, Eth, and I'm not going anywhere.” He hesitates for a moment, listening to the sigh of Ethan’s breathing, before adding, “I've got you. You're safe.” 

 

Ethan goes limp in his arms, the tension draining from his body as his breathing evens out and deepens, filling the quiet of the house with a sleepy susurration. 

 

“Go to sleep, blue. I've got you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan has an explanation, is confused, and has some laughs.   
> Featuring: sleepy Mark, embarrassed Ethan, and dumb jokes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for panic attacks! They're not super severe or anything but Ethan does freak out a little bit.

Ethan wakes up slick with sweat, his pajamas clinging to his body. He shifts, letting the warmth drag him back into sleep, and suddenly becomes aware of the weight of arms around him. 

 

Any remaining dregs of drowsiness vanish as his eyes shoot open, so wide that the air stings. He goes still and tense at the sight of Mark’s sleeping face. He tries to keep his breathing quiet, disperse the air as it escapes his lips, even though the phantom weight pressing on his sternum is telling him to rake in his last dying breath. 

 

Ethan carefully withdraws from Mark’s embrace, raising himself up to rest on one elbow with such slow precision that his arm shakes. He pushes himself to a sitting position and the trembling travels to his wrists. As he debates the best way to extricate himself from the sheets, Mark stirs beside him. Ethan freezes. He can hear the echo of his breathes in the air. He imagines the sound bouncing between him and the man beside him, a bright orange speck that’s haloed in a brilliant yellow glow that blurs to neon green, then pink, then back to yellow. The thought and its imaginary manifestation vanish as Mark mumbles something beside him, a vague noise that doesn’t sound like any language Ethan knows. 

 

“It’s okay, Mark,” he murmurs, trying to settle the older man. “Go back to sleep.” 

 

Apparently that’s the wrong decision, because Mark blinks himself awake, unfocused gaze drifting over Ethan’s sitting form. “Etham?” Mark slurs in a sleepy contortion of the boy’s name. 

 

“Yeah, it’s me,” Ethan replies as he starts to clamber out of the bed, swinging one leg to dangle off the edge of the bed. “I’ll just be heading out, so, uh, see you later, I guess…” He gets both feet on the ground - god, the floor is cold - before a hand closes around his wrist. “Umm…” 

 

The grip is loose, as sleepy as Mark’s voice when he pipes up again. “Wher’ you goin’?” 

 

Ethan looks over his shoulder to see Mark rolled over on his side, staring at Ethan through barely open eyes. “Uh, home?” 

 

“S’okay,” Mark garbles, eyes drifting shut even as his grip on Ethan’s wrist tightens fractionally. “Don’ need to ta leave.” 

 

“Well, I mean, I don’t want to intrude or -” 

 

Mark interrupts him with an unintelligible noise that’s a cross between a snore and a groan. Ethan wonders if he’s fallen asleep before Mark speaks again, eyes still closed. “Don’ wan’ you ta leave…” 

 

Ethan feels heat creep up his neck. “A- are you sure?” 

 

“Stay,” Mark says definitively, and the word sounds familiar. Mark gives a gentle tug to Ethan’s wrist. It’s not enough to move Ethan in any fashion, but it gets his point across. 

 

Ethan lets a smile ghost across his face as he settles back into the bed, leaning up against the headboard. Mark rolls over, his extended arm flopping over Ethan’s waist. He presses his face into Ethan’s hip, breath warm even through the thick pajamas that, Ethan is just now realizing, are not his own. 

 

Ethan forces himself to relax, but his arms still hover awkwardly in the air. He lets his far arm lower to his side, but his other arm still hovers over Mark, unsure of where their boundaries lie. Mark seems relaxed, his breaths deep and calming. As he listens to the constant sound, Ethan feels the tension drain from his shoulders, and he slowly lets his arm come to rest over Mark’s shoulders and then, maybe against his better judgement, carefully threads his fingers through Mark’s hair. 

 

Mark sighs in content, shifting his head so Ethan’s fingers scrape along his scalp. Ethan moves his fingers through Mark’s hair and feels the older man turn his head so his cheek rests on Ethan’s hip, exposing his face and the soft smile on his lips. 

 

Mark doesn’t do anything after that, so Ethan just keeps stroking his hair, centering himself with the gentle rise and fall of Mark’s back beneath his forearm. He looks down at himself, at the unfamiliar clothes he’s wearing, and tries to remember how he ended up in Mark’s bed. He’s still pretty warm, despite the colder than usual temperature of the house. He glances toward the window to see if it’s still snowing, but the curtains are drawn, casting a serene blue glow over the room. 

 

The thought of snow itches at the back of his mind, a memory surfacing from the deep pool of his thoughts. He was walking through the snow, his fingers and toes aching as they started to go numb. He was trying to get to Mark’s house. He knew Mark would help him. 

 

And then he'd gotten to Mark’s house and he was knocking on the door and Mark wasn't answering. He was ringing the doorbell, pounding on the wood until his hand hurt somewhere behind the ache of numbness, and he thought Mark wasn't going to answer. He thought he was going to be alone in the cold. And for the briefest moment, he thought he was going to die like that, scared and alone and shivering. 

 

But then Mark opened the door and there was golden light spilling across Ethan’s face and he'd been so relieved, so happy he might have cried if he could still feel his face. 

 

And Mark… Mark had taken care of him. Mark had been gentle and kind and Ethan had just acted like an incoherent idiot and Mark probably hated him now or at the very least thought he was pathetic. The whole night is oddly hazy after he arrives at Mark’s house, even though he can remember trudging through the snow in crisp, stark detail. But he does remember whining and crying and clinging to Mark like a child. 

 

Ethan’s entire body burns with shame and his hand stills in Mark’s hair. He acted like such an idiot. 

 

Mark grumbles unintelligibly, his voice distorted by the way his mouth is smushed against Ethan. 

 

Ethan looks down at his friend, resisting the urge to wipe his sweating palms on the sheets. “What's that?” he says instead. 

 

Mark raises his head a little, eyes still closed. “I said, why did you stop?” His chin thumps back down onto Ethan’s side, propping Mark up so he can continue to talk. 

 

“Oh. I, uh,” Ethan tries to speak past the inexplicable lump forming in his throat. “I'm sorry,” he blurts out, immediately biting his tongue hard enough to sting. 

 

“S’okay,” Mark mumbles drowsily. Ethan can feel the rumble of his voice radiating from his side, and the sensation of it mixing with his shame makes his skin crawl. “Just keep doing it.”    
  


Ethan obeys without thinking, starting to move his fingers again as he sifts through the words in his head. “Not for, uh, not for… that. For… last night.” 

 

He feels Mark move against him and when he looks down Mark is staring up at him. “It’s okay,” Mark says, much clearer than he was just seconds ago. “I’m glad I could help.” Mark shifts back a bit, propping himself up on an elbow, chin resting on his hand instead of on Ethan’s body. Ethan abruptly drops his hand from Mark’s hair, feeling stifled and hot and a little bit trapped. “Are you feeling better now? You were, like, really out of it.” A small smile spreads across Mark’s face and Ethan feels like he’s bathing in embers, surrounded by the terrible dry heat of shame. 

 

Mark’s not making fun of him, Ethan knows that, but he still feels like his ribcage is caving in and now it’s getting hard to breathe, he’s making this worse for himself but he can’t stop - “Yeah,” he manages to choke out, only sounding a little breathless. “Sorry - I, uh, I should go -” He scrambles out of the bed and the heat on his skin dissipates a little, but his insides are still smoldering in a way that’s almost painful. He needs to leave, he needs to leave right now, but these aren’t his clothes and he can’t remember where his clothes even are, where did he put his shoes, what about his phone does he even have his car keys it doesn’t matter he needs to leave right now right right now - 

 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay…” Mark gradually comes into focus. He’s kneeling on the bed in front of Ethan, concern creasing his brow. “Are you… good?” 

 

Ethan nods, he only means to do it once, but then he can’t stop and his head is bobbing up and down like it’s on a spring, his face still burning and he knows he’s absolutely red and awful-looking and he wishes he could stop himself he wants to disappear and Mark’s still waiting for an answer isn’t he - “Yep!” Ethan exclaims, too loud, so loud it hurts his own ears. “I’m fine I’m good I need to leave -” 

 

“Ethan,” Mark says calmly. His voice is still deep with sleep and it soothes something deep inside of Ethan and he feels the coils of tension inside of him unwind and the strings and metal holding him together suddenly fall apart and he gasps, a sharp and sudden inhale that rushes cool air into his lungs and gives him relief for just a moment before the heat of panic returns. He gasps again, and then again, chest heaving. “Ethan,” Mark says again, slower this time. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to leave right now. Why don’t you sit back down?” 

 

Ethan collapses back onto the bed with a muffled thump, legs dangling limply over the side like dead vines, still breathing heavily. He stares unseeingly at the window, the blue glow that blurs and focuses without his assent. The nodding has stopped, at least, but he can’t seem to control his breathing, especially not when he knows that Mark is just sitting there, watching him. 

 

Ethan hears Mark say his name and he twitches a little bit, but he can’t bring himself to turn his head. 

 

“Can I touch you?” 

 

Ethan nods, just once this time. He watches Mark move out of the corner of his eye and when the older man is close enough, Ethan leans sideways, nestling himself into the space beneath Mark’s chin. Ethan feels Mark freeze as he wraps his arms around the older man’s waist, but he still nuzzles up against him. He feels like he’s doing the wrong thing; he still feels like he should just get up and run as fast and as far as he can, but then Mark is wrapping his arms around him, resting his head on top of Ethan’s, and his mind goes quiet. 

 

He can still hear himself breathing heavily, but the sound is distant, floating away from him instead of through him. He hears the baritone rumble of Mark’s voice and he concentrates on the sound, trying to decipher the noises into actual words. “It’s okay. Just breathe with me, alright? Deep breaths.” He feels the exaggerated movement of Mark’s chest rising and falling and tries to copy the action, even though the air whistles and contorts as it passes through him. “Good job. Just keep doing that. You’re doing great.” 

 

As Ethan sinks back into his own skin Mark’s voice becomes clearer and Ethan realizes that this is the same tone Mark used yesterday. The panic returns full force because he’s forcing Mark to take care of him again, he’s an awful person and an awful friend and Mark is going to hate him, probably already hates him - his breathing picks up again, shallow this time, and black creeps across his peripherals. 

 

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s alright. Everything’s okay.” 

 

Ethan shakes his head. “No, I shouldn’t - I shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t have come, I need to leave -” 

 

And then Mark is holding him tighter, squeezing Ethan close enough that his heartbeat pounds against Ethan’s ear, thrumming in his head. He becomes aware of his own heartbeat, the quick, hummingbird rhythm in his chest that doesn’t sound anything like Mark’s. He feels the rise and fall of Mark’s chest beneath his cheek and the rumble of Mark’s words. He tries to copy it. That’s what he’s supposed to do, right? That’s what Mark told him to do, didn’t he? Ethan can almost remember, but the memory is foggy and distorted. 

 

“Good job, blue. Just keep breathing with me,” Mark croons. Ethan wants to listen to him. He wants to keep doing a good job. He wants to keep being good, and, in a rare moment of clarity, that strikes him as something he should possibly be concerned about. But the thought flits away as his mind becomes clearer. 

 

He concentrates on the feel of a living, breathing body pressed against his own. He listens to the steady thump of Mark’s heart. The panic flows away slowly, quietly, like frost on a window melting beneath the sun. Embarrassment still burns sharp under his skin, but it's manageable now. He can breathe around it, even if it still pokes at his lungs. 

 

“Thanks,” Ethan says, voice thick. 

 

“Anytime,” Mark says back. Neither of them make a move to untangle themselves from each other. After a few moments Mark speaks again. “So, you wanna tell me what's going on?” 

 

Ethan wants to be offended, maybe come up with a snappy comeback, but instead he just closes his eyes and leans against Mark a little more heavily. “I’m not usually this…” What does he even want to say? Nervous? Panicky? Needy? “It's just, I was thinking about yesterday and I felt bad that I was so, y’know…” 

 

“Oh yeah, that's another thing! What were you even doing here? I mean, I'm glad you came, don't get me wrong. I'm always happy to see you and I'm glad that I could take care of you.” Ethan feels his face flush, which is dumb, because he's literally sitting in Mark’s arms, on his bed, after sleeping next to him for the entire night while wearing his clothes, but still, hearing Mark say that out loud is just… different. “But you know you shouldn't have been out in that weather. I mean, you were already half frozen to death when I let you in!” 

 

Ethan pulls away because it's weirdly difficult to form coherent thoughts and be touching Mark at the same time, and Mark just lets him, arms falling to his sides. 

 

Ethan stares at the foot of the bed, keeping Mark in his peripherals. “I was actually, um, getting groceries. Just, like, water and stuff, in case the weather got really bad and I needed to stay home for a while, y’know, and my car, uh, it broke down. I mean, I had pulled over to the side of the road because it kept making this weird sound, and once it stopped it just wouldn't start moving again.” Ethan laughed awkwardly, the sound flat even to his own ears. “Your house was the closest, and I knew I couldn't stay in my car, so I came here.” He chances a glance at Mark as he finishes his story, but Mark’s face is uncharacteristically blank. 

 

“Where did your car break down?” 

 

Ethan shrugs even as he answers the question. “It was near that park, not the big one, the really small one that has, like, swings and a jungle gym and that's it.” 

 

“Ethan!” Mark screeches. Ethan whips around to look at him in alarm. “That's, like, 15 minutes away  _ by car _ !” Ethan shrugs sheepishly, avoiding Mark’s incredulous gaze. “No wonder you looked so awful - no offense.” 

 

Ethan can't suppress the giggle that slips past his lips, high pitched and childish. “None taken. It was really fucking cold, but I kinda stopped feeling it after a while.” 

 

Mark hums thoughtfully. “Yeah, I think that's called hypothermia.” 

 

“But I'm all better now, thanks to you! My hero,” Ethan singsongs, smiling at Mark. 

 

Mark huffs, and if he didn’t know better, Ethan could have sworn that he could see color rising to Mark’s cheeks. “I don’t know why you didn’t just call me,” Mark mutters, crossing his arms. “I would have come to pick you up.” 

 

“My phone died.” Ethan pats himself down in search of it, which is dumb, because he doesn’t even have pockets. “I think I left it in the car.” 

 

“I told you that you should get a new phone. It shouldn't die after like, six hours of minimal use.” 

 

“Well, one, not all of us can get every new iPhone that comes out,” Ethan starts, sticking up a finger. “And, two, I'm not sure ‘minimal’ is the most accurate word you could use.” 

 

“Typical,” Mark says. He rolls his eyes, but there's a smile on his lips. “Anyway, I'm gonna make myself some breakfast. You can keep sleeping or come, whatever.” 

 

“Oh, I'll  _ come, _ ” Ethan intones with a wiggle of his eyebrows, and as soon as he says it he feels his insides shrivel up in maximum cringe.

 

But Mark just rolls his eyes again, that fond smile still on his face, and says, “It's too early for this shit.” He stretches and Ethan hears a faint pop. 

 

“What the fuck was that?” The cringe, which had dissipated slightly, comes back full force. Ethan really shouldn't talk to other people before he's had coffee. 

 

“Uh, my spine?” Mark responds, seemingly unbothered. He starts to get up off of the other side of the bed, and as he turns away Ethan thinks he hears him mutter something along the lines of “fucking gymnasts and their fucking spry bodies…” 

 

A grin spreads across Ethan’s face. As he watches Mark stretch, he knows he’s going to be okay. He just needed a little help from a friend. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So obviously I did end up writing a second chapter. That's probably it for this work but I'm also working on another YouTubers, Ethan-centric fic about magic and stuff, so that will be coming soon. I know the ending was a bit abrupt, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway! I'd love to hear your thoughts, so feel free to leave a comment down below! Byeee

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I hope you guys liked that! I'm considering writing a second chapter where Ethan explains why he just appeared at Mark's house and all that, but it's coming super slow and I'm not super dedicated to it soo...  
> I've just fallen so deep into this Crankiplier hole and I absolutely cannot get out, so I really want to write more, but I also have like zero ideas, which is weird for me because I usually have too many ideas. So if there's anything you guys want to see, I'd really love to write more of these two and I'd love love love to hear your ideas so please comment/share!  
> I feel like this community is quite small so I'd love to hear from you guys!  
> Hope you liked it!


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